


pas de deux

by GKL (freelanceanthem)



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, all of your faves and mine will probably make an appearance, i heard you wanted that sweet sweet slow burn, it just helps the plot i promise, p.s. k8lin i'm sorry for reviving the alex vs. christen thing, there are too many characters to list them out but don't worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freelanceanthem/pseuds/GKL
Summary: the ballet AU no one asked for, nearly a year in the making.





	1. assemblé

_[a-sahn-BLAY] Assembled or joined together. A step in which the working foot slides well along the ground before being swept into the air. As the foot goes into the air the dancer pushes off the floor with the supporting leg, extending the toes. Both legs come to the ground simultaneously in the fifth position._

\---

christen press was _born_ to dance. Born for those moments of clarity and closure, muscles straining, sweat rolling down the knots of her spine, chest heaving with the effort of appearing effortless. That’s when it all made sense, when her scattered mind finally narrowed to just focus on the present, when her anxious heart settled on keeping her going instead of holding her back, when everything felt right.

And not just any dance: ballet. That timeless, time-honored form. A dying art, to some. An art worth dying for, for others. Dramatic? Well, sure. But in order to make a living in this world, one had to be. It’s like a high she’s always chasing, each time worth the work. It’s why she finds herself flying across the country, auditioning in front of the best, keeping her phone on twenty-four hours a day just in case she gets a callback—

And she does.

She lands her dream role, albeit in an unprecedented way. She cleans out the fridge and packs up anything essential and leaves her dogs with her sister in LA. She moves into a tiny apartment in Manhattan paid for by the company. (That’s how she knows she’s made it.)

The project is an all-women production of Swan Lake, the brainchild of two retired legends teaming up. The talent would come from across the world—which made Christen’s heart race wildly in her chest just to think of it. Gracing the cast list were names with a hundred years’ worth of experience collectively, from the French phenom Camille Abily who would play the gender-bent role of the Baron Von Rothbart, to the young American soon-to-be-stars of Rose Lavelle, Mallory Pugh, and Sam Mewis, who’d be in the corps de ballet.

And Christen? The eponymous role, the dual characters of Odette and Odile, 

Of course, there are two casts for the prima roles, since the performance schedule is demanding and the physical requirements of an all-women production are yet unknown. So she’s sharing the spotlight, but she doesn’t mind.

Much.

It’s just—she’s sharing the spotlight with Alex Morgan. Even people who have never seen a ballet in their lives know the name. She’s been on the cover of ESPN and People and some trashy tabloids, she has a book deal and a documentary in the works, she’s—she’s legendary.

And this is, by all accounts, Christen’s first major role.

Which scares the shit out of her.

So she wakes up before the sun, meditates in her tiny Manhattan apartment paid for by the company, tries to maintain her state of calm through the first of many subway commutes. She gets to walk into the New York City Ballet like she owns the place (and she does belong there, she tells her anxious heart) and finds a place along the bar to begin her solo warmups.

The first rehearsal of any new production is tenuous, but this feels even more intense. The gathered talent eyes each other as they stretch and plié, working out the kinks of the morning and however far they traveled, preparing their bodies for the workout to come. Just like middle school, the dancers form cliques—Christen gravitates towards her own, a group of young dancers from LA, her typical company. They’re all in the corps—the oldest, Jane, is still six years younger than her, so they have room to grow before taking her spot as a principle with Ballet LA. But she likes to look out for them, and they look up to her, so it provides some much-needed security in the current den of wolves. Until—

“Holy shit, that’s Alex Morgan.” Andy Sullivan breathes, glancing over her shoulder. Christen steals a look too, and sure enough, the legend is making her entrance, followed by an entourage of other dancers. She knows their names, of course, and has nothing but respect for them—but seeing them in the flesh? Dancing with them? Changes the game.

“I dunno, Sully. I think Tobin’s better. More technical, you know?” Mal says, keeping her voice low.

Tobin Heath’s got her hands in the pockets of her sweats, slung low on her waist. She shuffles in behind Alex and lets her bag drop to the floor, the picture of casual—almost immensely out of place in a studio full of dancers eyeing each other nervously, sizing each other up with every glance. Christen’s not fooled by her appearance, though. Mal’s right – while they both haled from Portland and Alex Morgan was the bigger name, Tobin’s technique was superb, bringing a level of excellence to her dance that hadn’t been seen since the Russian schools of old. As if she needed anything else to worry about—there was such talent in the room…

The thought is so distracting that she pricks herself with the needle in her hand. She swallows around the lump in her throat and forces herself to focus on lacing up her shoes. She tucks her kit into her bag, pushes it to one side, and flexes, testing the ribbons running up her ankles. When they hold she gets to her feet and begins to stretch.

“CP!” She turns, not thrilled to be interrupted – but when she sees her old friends from her time in Sweden she doesn’t mind. The Americans lead the pack – Ashlyn & Ali, followed closely by Whitney, all scooped into a group hug by swede Caroline Seger.

“I didn’t see you guys come in!” She exclaims, squeezed between them all. Everyone talks over each other as they try to catch up. Segs is rooming with fellow Swedish principal Lotta Schelin, Ash has cut off nearly all her hair, Whit is studying law in her spare time, and no, the Orlando pair haven’t tied the knot just yet. Christen’s breathless but content, no longer filled to the brim with nerves now that some of her dearest friends are with her.

“So, Pressy, you ready for this?” Ashlyn asks when there’s a lull in the conversation. Christen glances at her in surprise, suddenly the center of attention.  
“I mean, definitely. It’s kind of my first big role.” She smooths a stray piece of hair back into place and glances away, anxiety returning white-hot to bubble in her chest.

Whit grimaces. “That’s tough. Like, an all-girl production is cool but I don’t know how we’re gonna pull it off. We’re doing, like, lifts and everything, right?”

Ali and Segs nod, but it’s Ash who answers. “Hell yeah! That’s why I’m here.” She flexes for emphasis, earning laughs and eye-rolls from the group. “I’ve been hitting the gym, don’t worry, Pressy. I won’t drop you on your face.”

“You better not…” She replies, and forces a laugh. It’s true – one of the only reasons she’d signed on is because her good friend would be the “Prince,” dancing opposite her swan. They’d danced together in Sweden, of course, and while it hadn’t required the older blonde to fill a male dancer’s role, Christen knew she was sturdy enough and up to the challenge. The other pair were Alex and Tobin, of course, who were perfectly matched. Anyone who was dancing a “masculine” role – whether the gender-bent Prince Siegfried or in the corps de ballet – were stockier than a typical dancer, and would be receiving specialized training with some of the finest danseurs in the country to transfer their technique to the unusual role. Christen was just glad she’d still be en pointe and in a tutu – the others could rise to the challenge and let her focus on dancing the hell out of her first major role.

The gathered dancers quiet down as the clock strikes ten and two more women enter the room. A wave of understanding washes over the room – these are the retired legends who brought them here to put on this unusual, this avant garde show. Christen tenses at her place along the barre, watching as they take the center of the floor.

“Good morning, everyone,” starts the taller of the two, her voice gentle despite her imposing figure. “My name is Hope, and I’ll be the ballet master for our little school during the production.” She turns minutely and gestures towards her colleague. “This is Christine Sinclair, the artistic director. We’ve brought you all together to achieve our vision, one that we have honed through countless years of performance ourselves and now want to make possible in our retirement. We believe the female dancer – the ballerina – brings a certain aesthetic to the stage that a danseur can’t match, which is why we’ll be producing an all-women production.”

“I don’t want to hear anything about the physical requirements of anyone here,” Christine Sinclair speaks up for the first time, eyeing the gathered dancers. She’s a gruff, dark-haired woman who still has the physique of a dancer. “You are all capable of what we are going to ask you to do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. However, it will require a willingness to get out of your comfort zone.”

The Ballet Master nodded, almost to herself. “We’re already garnering a lot of attention just by having the audacity to attempt something like this, even though we’ve got weeks until the show is even ready. So we’re going to live up to the hype.”

Her colleague smiles for the first time, which softens the hard lines of her face. “And you can call me Sinc. Since we’ll be working together.”

Christen remembers growing up watching the two, though they had been rivals through most of their career. Rumor had it they found an appreciation for one another in their retirement, which had led to working together today. She had nothing but respect for them, and through their short words, she found she’s ready to get going, eagerness replacing the anxiety rattling her nerves.

Apparently, the women in charge are ready to start too, because they start issuing orders. The dancers quickly fall into a warm up block, the pianist begins a simple tune, and Hope is calling out positions, a new strength in her figure as she steps into command. Christen cycles through first, second, third, fourth, rests in fifth. It feels good to get her muscles going, her blood pumping. This is her element, not the politics and cliques of a pre-warm up dance hall.

\---

After the brief morning class, Sinc divides them up, with Hope taking the principals and soloists to a smaller studio. Christen’s self consciousness returns as she stands alongside some of the greatest dancers in the world, feeling small compared to the gathered talent. But Ashlyn winks at her from across the group, and a quiet dancer named Alyssa, who’d crossed paths with her briefly in Germany, is a solid figure at her side.

“Now, Princes, Wolfgangs, no lifts just yet. I know that’s what you’re looking forward to, but we’ll be learning that with the full corps, and probably not til later this week.”

Hope eyes them, picking out those dancing the “masculine” roles. “But I do want you to start getting familiar with your partners, since trust is a major part of this. You all know that, you’ve been on the ‘lifted’ side. Now you’re lifting.”

“To ease that, we’re having two casts for the principals – which you all know, because you’ve seen the lists. Whatever. Anyway—“ She glances over her shoulder, apparently a cue because an equally tall woman, though younger than Hope, appears at her side. “Kop, do you have my notes?”

Her assistant hands them over with a pen she pulls from behind her head, and disappears again to a place along the wall, apparently juggling half a dozen tasks silently.

“Great.” Hope flips through the pages of a worn notebook, settling on one. “Here we go. Kelley? Dzsenifer?”

A dark-haired German raises her hand from the back of the room. “You can call me Maro, ma’am.”

“Great. Don’t call me ma’am, I’m practically your age.” Her words are sharp but she winks to soften them. “Anyway, you two, you’re with Laure Boulleau and Lynn Williams for the pas de trois in the first act. We’re performing all three variations – ah, but we can get into the details of that later. Hm.”  
Hope rattles off a few other casting decisions, muttering and making notes in the margin of her lists. Finally, she glances around. “Ah, yes, my princes! Princesses. We’re calling her Sieglinde, the feminine form of Siegfried.” She chuckles to herself, apparently pleased. “Anyway. Ashlyn, you’ll be with Alex. Alex, where are you?”

Christen’s stomach drops. There must be some mistake—she’s supposed to be with Ash. Her friend, someone she knows and trusts and has _already danced with._

The world seems to be in slow motion as Alex—the Alex Morgan—raises a hand and smiles. “That’s me,” she says, as if anyone in the room doesn’t know who she is. She turns her radiant smile on Ashlyn and says something about being excited to work with her. Christen barely hears. Her mind is racing. Because if it’s not Ash, it’s—

Tobin Heath.

Their eyes meet. Christen’s heart skips a beat but she bravely tries to smile. Instead, her new partner’s eyes narrow coldly and she looks away.  
Hope makes it official – “That means Tobin, you’re with Miss Christen Press.” Christen swallows around the lump in her throat and smiles with more conviction this time, since Hope and half the group are looking at her expectantly. “A rising star from LA.”

“Thank you, Hope. I’m really excited to get started.” And she means it, she decides as soon as the words are out. This is her chance. Just because things have changed doesn’t mean she’s going to throw it away by letting it get to her. Tobin Heath be damned, she’ll dance the hell out of the role regardless.

So, with a confidence that doesn’t quite feel genuine, she begins the rehearsal.

\---

Hope takes the two swans and starts them on the black swan variations from the third act, since they require a technical mastery before the subtle characterization can be added in. They spend an hour working out the steps and linking them together. Christen’s mind is the most worn out from the rehearsal as she works to pick it up quickly. It’s this unity of mind and body that has always appealed to her about dance—and what makes it so hard. The ballet master is asking a lot even from their first rehearsal, and Christen realizes the level of difficulty truly is a step above what she’s used to, even from her position as principal at Ballet LA. When Hope releases them for lunch and calls for the princesses, who’ve been standing by learning steps with her assistant, Christen is thoroughly worn out. 

She flashes Alex a quick, friendly smile—even though the two have exchanged only a handful of words the entire morning—and heads to grab her bag. She finds a spot in the quiet hallway between the two studios and slides to the floor, sighing heavily as she allows herself to enjoy the rest.

“Hey, Odette! Christen, right?” A friendly voice catches her attention and she glances up. The voice belongs to an athletic-looking dancer who she recognizes as one of the soloists. “My name’s Kelley. Me and HAO—we’re the jesters, she’s really nice, you should meet her too—me and HAO are gonna go grab lunch if you wanna come with us?”

Christen smiles despite herself. Kelley’s energy is infectious and she seems perfect for the role. “That sounds like so much fun! I actually packed my lunch today but I’ll definitely take you up on it later.”

“Alright, cool. Nice to meet ya, Chris!” She grins over her shoulder, already moving down the hallway.

Still smiling to herself, Christen pulls out her lunch and her book and settles in. Someone takes a seat next to her and does the same, much to her surprise. It’s Alyssa, from before. She introduces herself shyly and the other woman glances up from her book of crossword puzzles.

“I remember you,” she says simply, her voice naturally low. “Sweden, right? You’re making a name for yourself.”

Christen blushes and nods. “I guess so. I mean, thanks!” Alyssa smiles and the two go back to their own business.

Lunch is a quick affair, since they’ll have time to rest while Hope or Sinc is working with other parts of the production. Soon they’re back to grinding out the steps, this time the white swan variations from the start of the second act.

She barely sees her new partner all day – as soon as the swans are given a break, it seems Ashlyn and Tobin have disappeared. When she gets the chance towards the end of the day, she asks Hope about it, who replies that they’re working with the professional danseurs brought in to teach them a few steps typically only performed by a man. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be working together soon!” Hope says cheerfully. Christen wishes she could match her enthusiasm.

It’s only at the end of the day that they run into each other—almost literally, each lost in her own thoughts as they are dismissed. They stare at each other, dripping sweat from the long rehearsal. Christen recovers quickly and nearly trips over herself in her haste to make a good first impression.

“Hey! Wait up! I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Christen.” She extends her hand, cringing internally as she does. Who shakes hands anymore?

But Tobin, thankfully, takes it. “Tobin.”

That’s all she says, adjusting her bag where it slid down her shoulder during their quick interaction. Christen tries again.

“I’m really excited to get started. This is such a unique project, I couldn’t refuse the opportunity to try it out.”

Her words are lost to Tobin, who gets distracted by the arrival of Alex. It’s evidently their first interaction all day, too, because Tobin’s face instantly changes from indifference to—something. Christen tries not to feel too snubbed. “Dude. I can’t believe we’re not dancing together.”

Alex frowns. Even her frown is pretty, and Christen winces. “I know. We’re so well matched,” she laments, then, as if just noticing they weren’t alone, turns to Christen. “Your first major role, huh?”

Christen winces again. Everyone’s been reminding her of that all day, but this is the first time it feels like an insult. She plasters a thin smile on her face. “Yeah. I’m pretty excited. Uh. Anyway. Tobin, it was nice to meet you. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” 

She retreats. And she knows it’s a retreat, but it’s been a fucking long day and she’s just been—been slapped in the face by one of the top names in ballet. She’s practically fighting back tears as she grabs her bag and slides sweats on over her tights and tired legs. When she glances up, all she sees is Tobin rest her hand on the other dancer’s waist to get her attention—such an intimate and familiar touch that she feels wrong for seeing it. So that’s that, she thinks. No wonder they’re so unhappily separated.

And how could she think to compete with Alex Morgan? Taking half a role that should be hers alone, dancing with her partner in more ways than one. How could she play the lead in a production stacked with global talents?

She’ll resign. It’s early enough, they’ll fill their spot. Or just let Alex Morgan be the sole shining star. It’s a win-win. Christen won’t embarrass herself and the rightful dancer earns all the attention and accolades.

When she’s behind the closed door of her apartment—paid for by the company and everything, but right now, so _empty_ —the tears finally come.


	2. entrechat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[ohn-treh-SHAY]_  
>  Interweaving or braiding. A step of beating in which the dancer jumps into the air and rapidly crosses the legs before and behind each other.
> 
> An accidental standoff & a quiet moment.

First thing in the morning, Christen finds herself knocking hesitantly on the ballet master’s door. She’d played the decision over and over in her head before falling into an uneasy sleep, and the rough night shows in her face and manner. She’d picked up coffee on her way in and held it like a lifeline. And, on the way out the door of her apartment this morning, she’d grabbed her dance bag on an impulse. Now that she’s here, about to resign, she feels more than a little silly.

It’s Kop who answers the door to Hope’s office. “Good morning! Hope is in a costuming meeting right now, but you can come back later or just wait until rehearsal starts.”

Christen fumbles, caught off guard. “I don’t really want to come back—“ She glances at the clock over Kop’s shoulder. Still an hour and a half til the morning class, but dancers would be arriving and warming up on their own. She had wanted to do this quickly and quietly, then slip out the door before anyone noticed she’d been here. Hope could tell the others and she’d be gone, back to LA and her usual company and her dogs. This threw a wrench in her plans. She puts on her sweetest smile. “Would it be okay if I just waited here until she’s back?”

Kop frowns, like she hadn’t considered that option. “I mean, sure. I’m not sure how long of a meeting it’s supposed to be but it can’t be that long, right? Gotta get the morning started!”

Feeling a little more relaxed, Christen smiles genuinely this time. “Thanks so much.” Kop invites her inside and they both find a seat, Kop at one of the desks, Christen in the plush armchair sitting across from them. As the assistant gets back to work, Christen fishes out her book, but she can barely focus. She reads the same line over and over again before realizing what she’s doing and giving up. Luckily, she doesn’t have to wait long in silence, only broken by the shuffling of papers. Barely fifteen minutes after she’d taken a seat, the door opens again and Hope strides confidently in—followed, much to Christen’s dismay, by none other than Tobin.

Hope takes in the scene with no hesitation. “Good morning, Christen.”

“Hi Hope, Tobin. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Nope,” Hope says cheerfully, taking a seat behind her desk and handing off a notebook to Kop. “I was just meeting with our costuming director when I ran into Tobin. Apparently she’s got a friend in the costuming department!”

“Allie and I go way back,” Tobin replies from where she stands by the door. Christen glances at her. The lanky dancer isn’t as relaxed as usual, some sort of anxious energy distracting from her chill. Or Christen’s just projecting.

“Anyway,” Hope begins, once she’s settled into her desk. The word hangs in the air—despite her casual air, Hope was the Ballet Master and their current employer, both of which allotted her a hefty amount of respect. They waited for her to speak. “Christen, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, well, Tobin was first.” A blush warms her cheeks. There’s no way in hell she wants one of the reasons behind her decision here while she resigns. Tobin is staring at her, expression unreadable, which only heightens her discomfort.

“We’re probably here for the same thing,” Tobin grunts, turning back to Hope. Christen’s heart pounds in her chest as her mind races to make sense of it all. Did she know? Was she quitting—no, quitting sounded so bad, it was resigning—too? What brought this on? 

Buzzing with nerves, she glances at the ballet master, who raises one thin eyebrow.

“And?”

Tobin swallows visibly and steps towards the desk as if the forward motion will get her started. “Ma’am—Hope—I was under the impression that Alex and I would be dancing together.”

Ah. So they aren’t there for the same reason, not really. Tobin’s there to complain about her. She turns her gaze pointedly towards the floor as the other dancer continues her argument.

“Alex and I have been dancing together for as long as I can remember. I think it only makes sense to have us partnered for this, ‘cause it requires so much, I dunno, work. And trust. It’s all I can think about when we were working with Rory yesterday. There’s no one else I want to lift.”

The words cut like knives—even worse since Tobin doesn’t seem to realize she’s said anything malevolent, just stating the facts. Christen’s stomach twists with a newfound anger, sharper than the sting of the other dancer’s words. It’s not like she’d asked for the swap. It’s not like she’d asked to put her trust in a complete stranger—sure, sometimes that was what this sport required, but this was different. She’d been expecting a friend and had gotten a woman bitterly determined to get rid of her.

Hope shrugs it off, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. “I know that was originally discussed, but Sinc and I have been looking at the structure of the show and characterization, as well as your individual styles. Alex is much more overt with her emotion and…” She pauses, seeming to choose her next word carefully. “Sensuality. I’m sure you know that, Tobin, having danced alongside her for so long. And Sinc says—and I agree—that Ashlyn is the same way, so it makes sense to pair the two. Practically instant chemistry, so that’s good.”

Tobin grits her teeth, and Christen’s reminded of the closeness she and Alex seemed to share—apparently it wasn’t just between them, and Tobin wasn’t exactly willing to share. It sparks smug satisfaction from Christen.

Hope glances between the two of them now, lips curling into a smile—the only one who could think of smiling at the situation. “And as for the two of you, you both dance with a more subtle emotion. We’ll have to work on that with you, Tobin, because the prince does require a genuine infatuation with the swan which will require more from you than usual—“ at the mere mention of ‘infatuation,’ Tobin grits her teeth harder, and Christen feels her blush return. “—but with the finale, or with the black swan’s seduction… we think it’ll be electric between you two.”

The room falls silent. Hope continues to smile serenely, already picturing the performance between them.

Yeah, they have something between them, Christen thinks bitterly, glancing at the other dancer who’s struggling to maintain her composure in front of the ballet master. So far, just a lot animosity—animosity that’s all too clear as both struggle to find words.

But Hope’s answer was solid, they had to give her that. She and the artistic director had put so much thought into this, thought and effort that was beginning to make itself clear even after just one day of rehearsal. 

Guilt creeps in to fill the space left by her anger. She couldn’t just back out now, not when they’d just begun. And Hope and Sinc had picked her as one of the swans. They must have some confidence in her ability to execute the role… so had she, before she’d let the switch get in her head. Before she’d let Tobin get in her head.

And why should she let Tobin intimidate her? They were both in Alex Morgan’s shadow. They were both on the cusp of a great career—and therefore they both had everything to lose. This could be their chance to make a name for themselves, and by dancing the masculine role, Tobin certainly had the rockier path to that same end goal. In another situation, Christen might feel _sympathy._

Instead, she’s just angry. 

“So, Christen, was that your question too?”

A moment earlier, Christen might have shifted uncomfortably, suddenly under the scrutiny of so many pairs of eyes. Not now, not burning with an icy-cold anger that races down her spine that lets her life her chin defiantly. No, her mind is made up. She’s not going to be scared away by anyone’s little temper tantrum.

Fuck Tobin Heath.

So she smiles her most gracious smile. “Yes, thanks, Hope. I’m confident in your decision.” Her gaze slides over to Tobin and lets her smile widen. “I’m looking forward to working with you.

Tobin’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits and her jaw clenches, which pushs out her lip until she’s practically pouting. But she doesn’t rise to take Christen’s bait, not in front of the ballet master. Instead she shrugs, recovering her chill demeanor instantly. “Yeah. Should be cool.”

Hope glances between them, her grey eyes alight with mischief. “Good. Anything else I can do for you two?”

“No, ma’am. I’m gonna grab coffee before the morning class. Can I get you anything?” Tobin ducks her head, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her sweats. 

The ballet master smiles. “No, thank you. I’ll just send Kop out for something if I need.”

“Cool. See ya soon.” 

Christen stares at the back of her retreating form as she shuffles out. If she hadn’t been there for the whole outburst and standoff, Christen wouldn’t have even believed she was capable of expressing much more than a detached chill.But there had been nothing “chill” about what had transpired. No, there’s more to the other dancer than meets the eye. Christen doesn’t care to do much more than shrug it off, still running on a heady mix of anger and adrenaline.

“I guess I’ll be heading out too,” she says, gathering her things.

“Christen.” At the sound of her name, she freezes in her tracks. Hope is staring at her, eyes fierce, expression unreadable. “You know we’ve brought you here for a reason.”

She flushes red hot. Had Hope guessed what she’d really planned to do? It’s not like she wears her heart on her sleeve—well, she’s getting better at it, at least. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“We picked you because you’re a damn good dancer, and we like damn good dancers. Especially in the lead role. But you’ve got to get out of your head and dance like you and I both know you can.”

Christen’s blush only deepens. “I know. I… I get caught up in it. And there’s so much talent, I—“ She cringes, knowing she’s saying too much. No one confides this much to a brand-new boss.

“You belong here with this talent,” Hope says, her words short. “And you’d better believe it. Otherwise you’re going to dance like you don’t, and I don’t want a lackluster performance from anyone.”

Christen swallows. “Okay. Yes. Yes, you’re right.” She grabs her bag and throws it on her shoulder--suddenly, she's glad she brought her whole bag, since she'll be staying for rehearsal. Relief and gratitude rushes over her. She hadn't really wanted to resign, now that hse thinks about it with a clear head. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Hope smiles, gentleness returning. “Of course I’m right. See you soon, Christen. And stop calling me ma’am.”

This earns a small smile as she heads for the door. “Thank you, Hope.”

\--

Christen finds a good spot along the barre and slides her sweats off. A few dancers have already trickled in to begin their own warmups, including her LA kids who scoot over to join her.

“So, how was day one?” She asks cheerfully as they stretch.

“You sound like our mom,” Jane says, squinting up at Christen from her place on the floor. 

Christen can’t resist sticking her tongue out at her, pulling her leg up to stretch it straight behind her head. Her hand grips the barre and she focuses on breathing steadily, enjoying the strain it puts on her warming muscles. When no one responds to her question, she brings her leg back to the floor and glances around. “What?”

“You make that look easy,” Sully mutters, pushing herself off the floor.

“Yeah, right,” Christen replies, rolling her eyes. “You’ll be surpassing me in a couple years, don’t worry.”

“Maybe sooner,” Jane grins. “Sully’s learning the little swan variation, Sinc says she could get dance in the pas de quatre if she keeps working at it!”

“Andy! That’s awesome!” Christen squeals, squeezing her shoulders. The Stanford grad shrugs off the attention, but she’s smiling a small, pleased smile. “So I guess that’s how day one went, huh? That’s awesome, you guys. I can’t wait til we’re all together.”

They fall quiet, upping the intensity of their warmups until Hope comes in to start the morning class.

\--

The swans receive an entire hour and a half for lunch, so Christen grabs her bag and decides to explore. Their production is only one of a handful of ballets the Theatre is putting on, but there are enough studios, small and large, that there’s more than enough space for everyone, even in downtown Manhattan. After wandering down the winding halls she finds a quiet, secluded studio that’s dark and empty, so she makes herself comfortable. She eats her lunch and reads her book, stretching across the floor like she owns the place.

Before long, she sets the book aside and pulls out her phone, scrolling through until she finds what she wants. The music for the black swan pas de deux begins, filling the small studio.

She stands and stretches her stiffening muscles, throwing off the slipper-like boots that keep her feet warm. Then—the black swan’s first solo variation. She springs into the dance, executing the quick battement step before a series of tight chaînés, moving diagonally towards the mirror. She flubs the next step and mutters a few choice words under her breath before grabbing her phone and starting the song over, running quickly through the arm extensions that follow.

It’s not her finest dancing, but that isn’t the point—she just needs to get the steps down, be able to flow effortlessly from one to another. Expression will come later. There’s just so much to remember. Arms, perfectly placed. Chin up, head still, torso twisting towards the audience or towards the curtain or towards where the prince would stand and watch. Not to mention just the flow of the steps, so technical, so physical. There’s no room for a missed step – each movement brings her into the next, sometimes all the way across the stage. The more she works, however, the more it falls into place. She makes it through the entire variation without a mistake and lands confidently in the final step, smiling a victorious smile towards the invisible audience, chest heaving with deep breaths.

A movement at the doorway catches her eye and she freezes, lets her arms fall to her side. She turns slowly towards the door, but it’s empty. Someone had been watching her. That’s the only explanation. She’d been too engrossed in her work to notice. 

The back of her neck prickles with suddenly self-consciousness. No one’s supposed to see this work – it’s for her and her alone, a ritual of hers since she’d become serious about the sport as a teenager. It’s the repetition of steps, the way she can become engrossed in her work away from prying eyes, the rhythm she finds when she’s alone, that lets her feel confident enough to do what she does. But she hadn’t been alone – at least not for a brief moment. There was no telling how long she’d been being watched.

Tchaikovsky still plays from her phone but she’s stuck to the floorboards, limbs as heavy as if they’re made of lead. After a long moment, she gathers her things and heads back to the main studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "fuck tobin heath" don't worry cp we'll get there in good time
> 
>  
> 
> sry this is just a lot of setup right now
> 
>  
> 
> some fun ballet tidbits if you're curious:
> 
> basing cp's odile (black swan) variation no. 1 off of this - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2wfCHbrHdw
> 
> basing the first two parts of the pdd (what leads up to the first variation, but they haven't learned this yet) off of this - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p21n1xorjEs
> 
> (the evil owl sorcerer dude is what camille abily is playing and i'm having too much fun imaging it)
> 
> the "little swan" part that andy wants is this - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xd2nTXsivHs  
> that would make her a "coryphée" which is higher than a member of the corps de ballet but not a soloist (cam's sorcerer dude, KO/HAO's jester) or principal (cp, toby)


	3. relevé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [reh-luh-VAY]
> 
>  
> 
> _raised. A raising of the body on the points or demi-pointes, point or demi-pointe._
> 
>  
> 
> partnering begins and tensions are high.

Christen’s days fall into an easy rhythm. The bustle of the city wakes her before the sun, she stretches and meditates as her small apartment fills with the smell of coffee, she makes her way downtown to the theatre and only gets on the wrong train once. After the usual warm-up class, her morning is spent with the swan corps as they learn the second act in which the white swan is introduced. She makes sure to keep a watchful eye on her LA crew when they’re all together.

She packs her lunch and eats it next to Alyssa or Lauren Holiday, another gentle soul who shows her pictures of her daughter at home. When neither of them are available—Hope and Sinc are very efficient, so while one role rests, another works with them—she wanders until she finds an open room and works on whatever’s giving her trouble. Right now, it seems as though she could work on the entire show in that empty studio – thankfully, she doesn’t have any watchers, not since that first day.

The afternoons kick her ass. 

She feels as though she’ll melt under the intensity of Alex’s gaze. The other principal seems to be watching her whenever she gets the chance, and it’s gone beyond a simple observation. Christen feels as though she’s being picked apart piece by piece, step by step. It turns her into a nervous wreck. The high-pressure environment does nothing for her nerves, either, since Hope barks out commands after every two or three steps she strings together. She’s used to this situation, or should be—but three of the greatest names in North American ballet (two past, one present) are scrutinizing her every movement and it’s all she can do to not crack under the pressure.

It’s halfway of their second week of rehearsal when Hope announces they’ll be starting to partner. Of course, Christen has been expecting it—dreading it—but there’s only so long you can practice alone in a dance meant for two. If only she didn’t feel so unprepared!

It’s Sinc who takes them for their first paired rehearsal. At her back are two men, the first Christen has seen involved in the production.

“Alex, Christen, meet Diego Valeri. He’s a principal here with the NYC company but has graciously agreed to assist with this production.”

“Actually, I owed Ms. Sinclair a favor,” Valeri says with a wink in her direction. He’s tall and dark, with an athlete’s body that seems filled with energy and life. Christen likes him immediately.

“And this is Mr. Rory Dames – a ballet master from Chicago. He also owed me a favor.” Dames is older but exudes confidence and knowledge. He smiles and dips his head in lieu of any further introduction.

“Mr. Dames and Mr. Valeri have been working with our princes these past couple days on technique, so Ash and Tobin already know them.” Christen glances around, surprised to find the other two principals behind her. They must have snuck in while the men were being introduced. 

“Don’t worry, we won’t be starting with any elaborate lifts,” Rory says as if he can read her thoughts. “I think we’ll just start with some assisted pirouettes.” He glances in the direction of Ashlyn and Tobin. “Now, ladies, you know what it’s like to be the _assistee,_ for lack of a better word, but now you’re the _assister._ You know what you like when you’re pirouetting – a firm grip so you know your partner is present, but the flexibility to allow yourself to have the grace and elegance the move requires.”

“Alex, Christen, you know what it’s like to partner. But it’s usually with men who have been studying this since before puberty. This time, it’s two women who are usually doing what _you’re doing_. So your job is to make it easy on them.”

Christen nods, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. 

“Christen, would you mind showing us how it’s done?” Diego extends his hand and she steps forward to take it “Just two doubles.”

It’s a simple request and she does it quickly, keeping her arm taut, the slight dip in their joined hands the only sign of just how much strength it requires to remain poised and upright.

He lets go of her hand to gesture to in the direction of Ash & Tobin. “You two, notice how I drop my shoulder to allow her to get the support she needs. If I hold it up—go ahead, Christen, two more doubles.”

She does as she’s told – and huffs out a short breath of surprise as she wobbles so badly she nearly falls over. “See?” Diego says, a shit-eating grin on his face. “No good. Alright, your turn.”

Their turn. That’s what Christen has been dreading – she steps back into line with Alex and glances over her shoulder. Tobin’s face is unreadable, but their eyes meet as she closes the distance between them and offers her hand. “Gotta start somewhere, right?”

She can’t explain why her breath catches in her throat.

With a deep breath, she takes her hand. Tobin flexes—the promise of support—as she turns to face the men and raises to her points. Diego sets a tempo – a double, down, rest two, up. Repeat. 

Easy enough.

Except it’s _not._ They wobble through the first few. It’s not long before Tobin’s jaw is set in determination and she widens her stance – which Rory corrects immediately, tapping her hips until she returns to a proper second position. “It all comes from the arm, remember? Arm and core.” 

Tobin nods, eyes narrowing. As they reset, Christen glances in the mirror in front of them—Tobin’s staring right at her. After what feels like an eternity, Christen looks away first. 

With the unsupported turns, Christen goes everywhere. On their fourth or fifth attempt, she collides with Tobin’s shins as they both try to correct themselves. There’s an audible impact, followed by a few choice words from Tobin. Christen drops her arms, horrified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“S’fine,” Tobin replies, taking the opportunity to brush the stray hairs out of her face. “Sorry for my language.”

Diego chuckles as they go to try again.

They’re breathing heavily – and still haven’t gotten the hang of it – when Rory lets them rest. “Just five minutes then we’ll keep going,” he says, giving them a firm look. Christen shrinks under his gaze, surreptitiously wiping sweat from her face. As if that would hide the effort it’s taking just to do this small thing. They have so much to _learn!_ And if it’s all going to be like this…

“Shit’s hard,” Ash mutters as she grabs her water bottle. At least Christen’s not the only one already feeling disheartened. The four are silent as they take their rest. She steals glances in Tobin’s direction, but her partner is staring off into space, face blank. Christen slides down the wall to the floor and lets her eyes close.

Five minutes later they go again – the break helps, and things start to go better. Tobin’s dropping her shoulder but still supports her, and Christen can actually turn like she usually does. Diego asks them to open it up to a fouetté, a whip step within the pirouette, so they can work on staying out of each other’s way. Even that’s fine – a couple mixups when their legs get tangled and Christen’s momentum nearly takes them both down, but after a couple solid ones, they seem to have the hang of it.

Rory actually smiles.

“Alright, ladies. Good stuff. Let’s go to a regular hold now – can’t do everything hand-in-hand, can we?”

Christen lets go and relaxes, watching the men carefully. They split up and Diego replaces Tobin at her back. She watches in the mirror as they talk. “Remember, you want to support her with your palms. I mean, I’m sure you’ve had someone who’s all fingers! That’s no good. Don’t dig in.”

Tobin nods, bringing up her hands so Diego can show her. “When she’s turning, you want to skim along her sides, of course. That might feel more like your fingers. And that’s okay, as long as you use your palms as soon as you support.”

Diego is gentle as he places his hands on her waist. “Christen, will you just go along with me for a sec?” 

She glances behind her and nods. 

“Great. Okay, let’s have you go en pointe and we’ll mess around.”

She rises to her toes, feeling him add pressure at her side. With a deep breath, she raises her chin and looks at him in the mirror. He ups the pressure on her right side, gentle but purposeful, so she turns automatically in that direction. He goes with it, turning her all the way around. She keeps herself loose, ‘going along’ like he had asked. Just through his hands, he turns her effortlessly. 

“See, Tobin, you have a lot of control like this, and sometimes you need it,” Diego brings her to a stop and smiles at her through the mirror. “Not all the time. Miss Press knows what to do. But an exercise like this can really teach you trust, which you’ll definitely need going forward.”

He drops his hands and grows serious. “Okay. Your turn.”

Tobin nods and sets her jaw, the blazingly determined look a little intimidating as she steps into the space where Diego had just been. 

She shakes out her arms before straightening up and sliding her hands into place around Christen’s waist. Christen jumps at the contact and instantly regrets it – they catch eyes in the mirror and Tobin’s are wide with panic. She wants to apologize but Tobin looks away pointedly. “Cool. Palms. Got it.”

Her hands are warm at Christen’s side, not much different than a man’s in size, but with more of a graceful strength. Christen rises to her toes and straightens up as Tobin applies pressure, a little awkwardly at first, trying to turn the body in her hands. In Tobin's control, Christen does a few slow turns, finding her eyeline in the mirror to avoid getting disoriented. Her fingers start to curl into the taut muscles of Christen's waist as she fights for a better purchase, and the raven-haired dancer winces - but doesn't complain, especially after their rough start. Diego must be able to tell, though, and laces his fingers through Tobin's to gently correct it.

At Diego's command, they slow her to a stop and reverse directions. The switch messes with her concentration - as she turns in Tobin's hands she ends up staring directly at her partner - and Tobin's staring back. Her heart leaps against her chest as she becomes acutely aware of the curl of Tobin's fingers around her waist, fingertips brushing her hip bones, palms pressed flat against the thin fabric of her leotard. The weight of Tobin's hands feels more intimate than anyone she's ever danced with. Her heart is pounding so hard Tobin must be able to feel it.

And then the spell is broken. Their instructors call for another break and Tobin drops her hands as quick as she can, as if she'd been burned. Christen lowers herself to stand flat, taking in a few steadying breaths. Well, at least something in the rehearsal had gone smoothly. If that could be considered... smooth.

Tobin still avoids her during their break. She tries not to take it personally, even though her anxious brain screams that that’s no way to build trust.

When Rory calls them back together, they start putting what they've worked on together, since linking up the steps is key - and, as Diego tells them, one of the hardest parts of being a danseur, since each move can require a different lift or support. So they do double pirouettes hand-in-hand into a triple fouetté with her hands around Christen's waist, preparing for the other, more elaborate lifts and partnered steps still to come. Rory makes them take it a step further and do a few falls, key to the first movement of the White Swan pas de deux. Christen's heart is pounding as she lets herself lean backwards, falling through the empty air until she feels Tobin's taut arm at her back to slow her momentum to a stop. They pick those up quickly enough, and Rory is pleased - but it means they move on to jetés even sooner.

"The jeté forms so much of what we'll do next, it's imperative we get these right. No rushing through like we've done the other steps." Christen swallows hard at his last comment - she hadn't realized everything they'd done so far had been 'rushed.' Her mind and body feel as tired as a full day of solo work, and they're practically just getting started.

Tobin and Ash must have worked with the men on the jetés before, since it took much less prep before they were partnered up, Tobin’s hands firm on her waist.

“Now, Christen, Alex, just a regular one. Attitude croisée, up on one, down on two, rest for three and four. Remember – don’t anticipate. Wait for your partner’s cue.” Christen nods, breathing deeply and shaking out her limbs. She brushes her hand to Tobin’s, a habit of hers for as long as she could remember, just reassurance that her partner was there and focused and ready for the dance. Tobin looks at her strangely but Diego is already setting a tempo and counting them off.

On one, she coils her muscles, ready to jump. But Tobin’s cue is late – even the split second is enough to make it awkward. She still springs to a good height, but her legs don’t extend fully and her breath catches in her throat as she fights to gather herself for the landing. She’s grateful for the two counts of rest and she feels Tobin tense as well, ready for their second attempt.

It goes smoother, thankfully, but the third is as awkward as the first. In an attempt to make it better, at least for _herself,_ Christen does exactly what she wasn’t supposed to do, and anticipates. She pushes herself into the air on one, and leaves Tobin’s hands chasing her. Tobin grunts, exerted by the effort, and the descent is anything but smooth. Christen stumbles as she lands, instantly corrects herself, and glances in the mirror at her partner, whose brow is furrowed.

As their eyes meet, Tobin grips her waist, _hard._ "Quit it. Move with me." She says it under her breath, only meant for her partner’s ears, but her words are sharp and stinging. 

And Christen knows a challenge when she sees one. "I'm trying," she bites back. "I can't do anything if you don't support me like you're supposed to."

“Why don’t you try a little harder, then?” Tobin says snidely. 

Christen turns around to face her, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I will when you will. Don't make my job any harder than it has to be.”

“The sooner we get this, the sooner the whole thing is over." Tobin snarls, pushing the hair out of her face.

"Over? We have an entire show to do together! Are you going to be this rude the whole production?"

"Are you going to flinch every time I touch you?"

Christen pulls back as if she’d been slapped. She opens her mouth to respond but no words come out – instead, she just stares. Tobin stares back, eyes dark with fury.

“Hey, you two. Walk it off,” Rory says, stepping between them and placing a calming hand on either of their shoulders. Tobin shrugs it off and stalks out the door.

Christen can only blink back a sudden rush of tears, face hot with embarrassment as she realizes what just happened. When she glances up, Rory is watching her, strangely sympathetic. “Why don’t we call it a day on partnering? We’ve made good progress. I’m sure Hope will put you to work on your solo variations.”

Christen nods, taking in a deep breath. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

A million thoughts race through her head as they break and she goes to grab her bag. She should apologize, definitely, since Tobin had been hurt by—it was an honest mistake, of course, she had just been surprised—it wasn’t because Tobin was a _girl._ A woman, just like her. She’s used to—to being touched by—not in that way, not since college but—it was like touching a live wire, the way the energy crackled between them. Maybe it was—how had Hope put it? _Something_ between them.

Which was infuriating—and impossible!—because Tobin Heath had to be the single most infuriating and immature person she’d ever had the misfortune of partnering with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to quote cp from that camp video, "uuoOUUHHGHhghhhh"
> 
> good lord this was so technical . i have no idea what i am doin g.
> 
> i bet you thought i was trying to write the entire thing w/o any men. (you were right) but i guess these two were unavoidable.
> 
> oh god i'm officially that jerk who makes you wait forever for a couple thousand words why are my chapters so short (i have planned them extensively so i can't make them longer i'm so sorry)


	4. battement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [bah-t’MAHN]  
>  _Beating. A beating action of the extended or bent leg._
> 
> a girls' night in and a coming out

On Mondays, the company is given the day off – which is why Christen agrees to a Sunday night get-together at Lauren’s place. After so many weeks of rehearsal, her life has narrowed to ballet. She takes a long, hot shower as soon as she’s home from Sunday’s rehearsal, scrubbing away the sweat and stress of the week. Street clothes feel tight around her thighs and shoulders but it’s the first time she’s put on anything but tights or sweats so she at least tries to look put-together. She really likes Lauren, likes the other like-minded women also invited over, and wants to make a good impression outside of the studio.

The company has put up the dancers in the same neighborhood, so at least she doesn’t have far to go. She bundles up to keep the brisk night air from her Cali-girl soul then heads into the night. She’s not used to the bustle of the city, sure, but there’s always enough going on in the theater district that she feels safe enough to make the five-minute walk.

“Christen! You made it!” Lauren greets her warmly and invites her in, immediately ushering her into the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yes, please!” Christen says, grinning. She pulls a bottle out of her bag and offers it to her host. “I brought some rosé.”

“Perfect. You can put it with the others, we’ll probably go through them all.” They share another laugh like the wine moms they are.

After accepting a glass from Lauren she follows her into the living room. The apartment is spacious for the area, and when she glances down the hall, she sees at least three doors – Lauren had a two-bedroom, but Christen and everyone she knew in the company lived alone. She files that question for later.

“Hey,” Alyssa waves from the couch, as as she ever seems. “Come sit.”

She gestures to the empty spot next to her and Christen takes it happily. She glances around – she’s seen all their faces, of course, but she’s really only spoken with the other principals. Whit’s on the other side of Alyssa, but that still leaves two she’s never met. She catches their eye and waves shyly. “Hi, I’m Christen.”

The woman across from her tosses a thick braid of long blonde hair over her shoulder and introduces herself as Becky, “Or Broon, that’s what everyone calls me.”

“And I’m Lynn,” says the darker woman next to her, smiling shyly. “You’re one of the swans, right? I love watching you guys rehearse.”

Christen shrugs modestly, taking a sip of her wine. But Lauren laughs and shakes her head. “No talking shop, ladies! We have to find other things to talk about. Dancers, I swear.”

“Okay, fine,” Lynn says, sticking out her tongue. “Then what’s everyone doing on their day off? Nothing dance related.”

Christen laughs along with them as they struggle to find anything outside of the mundane – because really, their lives do revolve around dance, even on their days off.

\---

It’s not even midnight before Christen is pleasantly warm and wine-drunk (which is the best kind of drunk, if you’d ask her). The company is good, the wine is good, and the promise of sleeping in is even better. Crystal Dunn, a soloist she’s found herself drawn to, makes an appearance halfway through, livening up the party.

She’s just thinking about making the quick walk home before it gets any later when voices in the hall cut off the conversation. They hear the commotion before they see it.

“My roommate’s probably asleep already, she—“ Tobin crashes through the door, eyes widening almost comically as she takes in the scene. “Oh, hi. Chen, I didn’t know you were—what’s up?”

A pretty blonde head peeks around the corner. “Oh. I should go.”

“No, stay,” Tobin says quickly, turning with more coordination than she seems to have. She offers the girl her hand and leads her into the apartment. “We’ll be quiet.” She winks sloppily in Lauren’s direction as they head down the hallway. Christen feels her cheeks get warm. 

Her friends are quiet until they hear the door close. 

Lauren cracks a smile and rolls her eyes. “Well, you all know Tobin. My roommate.” 

Christen sees her chance to ask her earlier question, but her tongue feels heavy in her mouth. Luckily, Whit gets to it first. “You have a roommate? I thought everyone was alone.”

“Yeah! Well, we asked to be together. We go way back, so I was so excited to live with her again. Even if it’s temporary.” Lauren smiles and takes a sip, expression warm over the rim of her glass. “We just have different ideas of how a free night should be spent, that’s all.” They follow her gaze to where the two women had disappeared down the hall.

“What’s it like dancing with her, Christen?” Broon asks, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Christen shifts uncomfortably as the attention is drawn to her. 

“Oh, it’s—it’s fine,” she says, waving her hand dismissively.

But she’s not getting off the hook that easily. Whit makes a noise, shaking her head. “You two butt heads every single day, I’ve seen it. And I’m just in the corps!”

“It’s just a high-stress environment, that’s all,” Christen says quickly. She swallows quickly and finds herself suddenly very interested in the wine glass in her hands.

“Everything we do is in a high-stress situation.” Alyssa says, crossing her arms.

“But she’s dancing a man’s role. It’s brand new stuff.”

“Why are you defending her?”

Why _is_ she defending her? They argue every single day over something or other, and don’t say a word to each other outside of rehearsal time. Tobin might be the most infuriating person she’s ever met in her life, simultaneously calm and cool and collected and fiercely hot.

Hot as in _temper._

Not looks. Not physically hot. Not hot like Christen feels hot right now, cheeks as red as the wine in her glass.

“Defending who?” To make matters worse, Tobin reappears and makes her way into the living room. She gives the other dancers a charming smile. Her hair’s a little messier – but at least she’s alone. 

And she doesn’t even wait for an answer. “Chen, do we have anything stronger than wine?”

“Some whiskey, I think. You can check in the kitchen.”

Tobin nods and does as she suggests. Lauren frowns minutely before following her to the kitchen.

Christen lets out a small sigh – earning her an elbow from Alyssa. “That was close, huh?” The blonde mutters under her breathe, receiving grins from everyone who also heard.

Broon strikes up a different conversation, but Christen is barely paying attention – the apartment is small, so there’s really no way not to eavesdrop. Or at least that’s what she’s telling herself as she listens in. She can even see them through the doorway, so it’s not like they’re hiding something…

“Is your friend staying the night?” Lauren asks, leaning on the counter.

“No.” 

Tobin shuffles through the cabinets.

“You should at least call her a cab later.”

“Uber, Chen. No one calls cabs anymore.”

“You weren’t out very long.”

“That’s why we need the whiskey.” Tobin finds what she’s looking for and pulls it out, gesturing with the bottle to make her point.

“As the mom friend—“

“I know.”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

“At least it’s not—“

Tobin cuts off, emotion creeping into her words for the first time Christen’s heard. Guilt washes over her, watching this private moment. She tries to turn her attention back to her friends, but she gives the kitchen one last glance—and meets Lauren’s gaze. Her heart skips a beat and she looks away quickly, hoping the older woman won’t put two and two together, hoping she hasn’t been caught.

With a smile that seems a little more forced, Tobin swings by again and makes her way down the hallway without another word. Lauren returns seconds after with the open bottle of wine, topping off their glasses, and the conversation moves on.

It’s not ten minutes later, however, when Tobin makes her presence in the small apartment known again, this time in a different way. Their conversation is cut off by a high-pitched moan that was definitely not from anyone in the room—or Tobin.

Christen wants to die of secondhand embarrassment. The others seem to take it in stride – especially Crystal who lets out a laugh, trying to smother it behind her hand. “At least someone’s getting laid, right?” 

“God, I know,” says Broon. “My boyfriend’s back in Seattle. It feels like it’s been ages.” They all groan in commiseration.

“Mine’s in DC, and I thought that was bad,” Crystal says, shaking her head. “Good for Tobin. Maybe that’s how she’s so chill all the time.” That sends them into peals of laughter.

“She’s a good kid.” Lauren’s been quiet the whole time, but her gentle words quiet the whole room. She shrugs, cracking a smile. “I was going to apologize, but we’re all adults here.”

Silence suddenly stretches out between them.

“And it can’t be easy, can it?” Alyssa says, shifting in her seat. “She’s very—“

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t know she was… gay.” Crystal helps as Alyssa trails off.

The tone of the room shifts. Everyone seems to lean in. 

Lauren takes a sip and swallows hard. “It is… hard. You know. She’s very religious, raised in a very Christian household, so I’m glad she can be comfortable here, however awkward it may be. I just—“

She takes a deep breath. “Her first real girlfriend was another dancer—Vancouver. It was so good for her. But people started getting word, and it’s not—it’s not like theater, not yet. I’m sure you all know it. Our whole art form is still seeped in homophobia and sexism and racism and—“

Again, she breaks off and seems to collect herself. “They were basically given an ultimatum. Break it off or give up their career, at least with the Vancouver company. Which is a lot of pressure for any relationship, and Shirley wanted to leave Vancouver anyway, and what she had faced was a good enough reason to do it. So they did break it off, and it got a little ugly, and she’s here and Shirley’s in Paris and I guess all we can be glad about is that their careers are in tact. Mostly. I have to say, Tobin got the better end of the deal, if you could even say there was one.”

Her eyes go wide. “I’ve said too much.”

Broon wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. “No one here will breathe a word of it outside this room. It sounds like you needed to get it off your chest!” The other women nod, soaking up the silence after Lauren’s rush of words.

Christen’s mind is racing, trying to make sense of it all. She puts down her glass, suddenly wishing her senses weren’t dulled by the alcohol. After a long moment, she bolts to her feet. All the heads in the room turn to her. “I should call it a night.”

She gathers her things to a chorus of goodbyes, the gals already moving on to other, less serious forms of gossip. But before she goes, Lauren catches her eye for just a moment too long. Her cheeks heat up. Her eavesdropping hadn’t gone unnoticed. But neither woman says a word, and Christen makes her way into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh the plot thickens. shoutout 2 my girl shirley for getting thrown under the homophobia bus for the plot yet again :(
> 
> this chapter is hella short and hella backstory-heavy but i'm not apologizing for it, i have been through hell and back just trying to get it to ya eyes.
> 
> thank you for your patience, it will hopefully pay off soon.


	5. pique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pee-KAY]  
>  _Pricked, pricking._
> 
> no, not that piqué  
> and not a PK, either  
> damn footballers

“Ladies. Swans. You have to _drape_ yourselves over your princesses. This is seduction, don’t forget.” Hope leans into her assistant’s arms, dragging her arms along Kop’s before straightening out. Kop rolls her eyes but smiles despite herself. “Like that. Feel the love. Or, not quite love.”

Christen nods and sets up to work on the transition again.

At the start of the third week, they start putting it all together. 

After a brief morning class and working with Diego and Rory on partnering, they’re joined in the afternoon by Hope to start going over the steps. They start with the black swan entrée, piecing together the parts they learned on their own. Both pairs are working on the same things so they make do, walking through the same steps a couple feet from each other. 

While they’re just hashing things out, Hope doesn’t actually make them do the full move – Christen always feels a little ridiculous just waving her arms around, but she’s grateful she can just focus on the mental part right now. It’s the mental part that will let her get into the character, so she isn’t focusing on the order of the steps when she’s supposed to be… seducing Tobin.

The sequence is deceptively difficult – Christen pirouettes to her partner who catches her and dips her into an arabesque penché, back into a pirouette, then into the ‘seduction’ as Hope had put it. The fierce ballet master claps her hands together. “Let’s go again. From the pirouette.”

Alex and Christen move a few paces away, setting up under Hope’s watchful eyes. Christen turns and meets Tobin’s eyes, who gives a curt nod as they’ve gotten in the habit of doing. Hope counts them off and they turn on flat feet. Christen’s counting under her breath.

“Arms derriere, Press.” She switches her arm position at Hope’s sharp command, as quick as she can without delaying her next step. Tobin “catches” her, also muttering something under her breath. Christen leans into the penché, turns flat again, then straights up for the last two counts of the sequence as Tobin extends her arms behind her.

Hope shakes her head, frowning slightly. “What did we just say?”

She slides her palms around Christen’s waist, applying gentle pressure. “Lean in.” Hope slides her palms around Christen’s waist, applying gentle pressure. Christen relaxes as much as she dares, letting Hope press her back to Tobin’s front. She takes a deep breath, thinks seduction, and arches her neck, tracing Tobin’s extended arm until her fingers sit against the delicate bones of the wrist. She feels rather than hears as her partner lets out a breath.

Hope’s lips twist into a smile—and something like smug satisfaction dances behind her eyes. “There you go.” She drops her hands and moves on to Alex and Ash.

Christen puts space between their bodies as soon as she can. She feels flushed – and tries to tell herself it’s just from working hard. Except they’ve barely been going through the motions. And she’s just been so close to Tobin she could feel her breathe, which is so weirdly intimate and she’s never this bothered when it’s men?

She turns to watch the other pairing get the same treatment from Hope. Alex is all over her partner, and Christen’s reminded of what Hope had said on just their second day – a more overt sexuality, and even so early in the characterization, she can see it. So at least that much makes sense – she’d always known Hope knows what she’s talking about, but it’s reassuring to see it in action. 

Hope nods and gives them a break, and Alex and Ashlyn simultaneously break character and laugh, turning to face the each other and the other pair. “Ali’s gonna kill me,” Ashlyn says with a wink. 

Alex joins in, smiling the most genuine smile Christen’s seen her give. “You’re worried about your girlfriend? I have a husband.”

“I could beat him up if I really wanted, though,” Alex sticks her tongue out at Ash’s response.

Tobin shifts her weight at Christen’s side, drawing the attention of the other principals. “I dunno.”

“What, that I could beat up Serv? You know I could.”

“No, I mean.” She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her sweats. “We’re all professionals here.”

Christen looks at her strangely, but Alex just laughs. 

“It’s just weird for me,” Alex replies, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she steps off the raised dance floor. “Like, I’m not gay. It’s easier to—” 

The rest of her words are lost to Christen. she bends over and grabs her water bottle. Christen takes it as her cue to do the same, eyes unfocused as she turns the whole brief conversation over in her head. The nagging voice in the back of her mind tells her no, stop it, overthinking just creates more problems. But this isn’t a meditation sesh, she doesn’t have to listen to that voice in the back of her mind. So she doesn’t.

_We’re all professionals here._

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

\--

After a quick break they move on. Diego joins them from where he’s been working with the Sorcerer characters, since they perform steps like battements in their variations, which ballerinas are rarely taught. He stands at Hope’s side, watching as they put together what they’ve done so far. They put their heads together and speak quietly before turning to the principals.

“This is a hard one,” he starts, clasping his hands behind his back. “But you’re ready for it, otherwise we wouldn’t do it. It’s a good lift for covering ground together, since people are so amazed you’re doing it they don’t pay attention to fact you’re just walking across the stage.” He winks and Christen smiles, as charmed as ever. “Alex, can I use you as an example?”

Tobin & Ash watch closely as he demonstrates, lifting Alex high above his head with straight arms, body taut with the effort. He keeps his chin up, eyes fixed on a spot between her shoulder blades. Alex bends at the waist, legs outstretched in front before lowering them parallel to Valeri’s body. He takes a couple quick steps across the floor then lowers her slowly onto pointe.

“Easy, right?”

Ash snorts.

It is ambitious. But they’re not just throwing them into the fray, not yet. Diego works with them individually, making sure Christen knows how best to balance her weight or hold her head to make the lift manageable, making sure Tobin knows how to do the whole damn thing. They break it down into sequences, transitioning from the jeté, which they’re more than comfortable with, into a prolonged lift. Tobin’s stretching and shaking out her arms in between every couple tries, sweating with the effort of lifting another woman over her head. Diego spots them as they try it for the first couple times, holding them in the sweet spot where all their efforts work together rather than against each other. When he’s helping, it all clicks, and for those brief glimmering moments Christen can see the beauty in it. When he lets them try it on their own? Not so much.

They don’t even try to add the walk in.

Finally, Hope steps in and asks them to put it all together. They go back a couple steps to the start of a logical sequence. Christen runs through it in her head and can tell Tobin’s doing the same. Alex and Ashlyn say it out loud for them all to confirm.

The sequence leading up to the life works fine, even though it’s been nearly an hour since they’ve run it. They are, after all, professionals. As Tobin likes to remind them.

The lift is another story. Tobin’s stance is wrong from the start, and that spills into the lift, and—

Christen feels her weight tip back and can only stretch her legs forward to try to save it herself. Time stretches out until the moment seems to take an eternity. Tobin grunts underneath her and suddenly they’re back-to-back in all the wrong ways. She watches the world upside down as Ashlyn runs forward and grabs her waist to tilt her forward again. With Ash shifting her weight, Tobin muscles her down and Hope helps from in front of her. The three of them get her to the solid ground.

Christen takes in deep breaths, trying to settle her racing heart.

Tobin looks stricken, brushing sweat-soaked strands of hair out of her face. “Shit. I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

Hope slowly relaxes her hand where she still grips Christen tightly. “Why don’t we take a break? I can work with the corps for a bit.”

Christen nods in relief and shakes out her arms. Her water bottle and phone are close at hand so she grabs them and leans up against the only non-mirror wall available.

She’s scrolling through Instagram when someone approaches.

“I’m sorry I almost dropped you.”

Christen glances up in surprise. She and Tobin don’t talk during breaks. They don’t really talk at all, unless they have to. 

“Oh. It’s—it’s okay, it happens. I was just scared for a second.” And she means it—it does happen, she’s hit the ground before after lifts, whether it was her fault or her partner’s fault. Tobin should know that too, she’s danced all her life, she’s probably been dropped on her face too.

“Me too. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

Christen looks at her strangely. She sounds sincere, which is what’s throwing Christen off. None of her cold sarcasm that usually gets under her skin – no, this is getting under her skin in an entirely different way. 

But the moment is as gone as quickly as it came. Tobin gives her a quick nod and goes to grab her own water bottle. 

\--

“By the way, one announcement before you go. Some reporters will be with us tomorrow.” Hope eyes the company, giving them a small smile. “I’ve invited them to the rehearsal because they’re very curious about what we’re doing here.”

Christen frowns. Of course they’re interested in the avant garde production, but did they have to watch so early in the rehearsals? Her heart pounds a little harder just thinking about it. 

Cam touches her elbow gently, making her jump. “Don’t worry, little star. You’ll impress them.”

“Thank you,” she replies with a nervous laugh. “I guess I’m pretty transparent, huh?”

The French phenom just smiles. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Christen grabs her stuff, pulling on sweats over her leggings and tossing her beat-up shoes on the pile by the door. She’ll start with a fresh pair tomorrow, since they’ll have an audience.

\--

An audience of the _New York Times._ Christen can’t breathe. She really should have figured, seeing as they’re in Manhattan with the New York City Ballet. But still. Her childhood self would be thrilled, but her current self is more than a little terrified. 

Hope introduces the NYT reporter as an arts & culture columnist; he’s joined by a handful of others but Christen doesn’t catch the details. She’s still star struck. She’s gotta snap out of it quickly, however, because the morning class is starting. Why the journalists are there for that is bizarre, since it’s the most normal part of their day. The skills sesh with Diego and Rory isn’t normal, however, and suddenly there are cameras flashing and notes being scribbled in iPhones. Christen’s skin crawls.

She’s never this nervous—she’s been here before. She’s a performer, for Christ’s sake. She knows how to excel under scrutiny. But she can’t shake the feeling that she’s been off-balance the entire production. First principal role, and it’s such a strange one. Her partner’s no help, outside of literally assisting her; what kind of partnership is formed on barely speaking? And she’s in the shadow of Alex Morgan, of all people. She performs well with a chip on her shoulder, but this chip is threatening to be a boulder.

Their pre-lunch work has become less general skill work and more calculated towards what they’ll be doing in the show, so they’re working on a couple elaborate lifts. They’re taking it slow; Diego doesn’t move from spotting them until all parties feel ready to give it a try – they nearly learned the hard way, once Christen was almost dropped. 

They also don’t integrate the lifts into the full sequence as quickly, even though Hope is getting anxious. There have to be certain ground rules. While everyone agrees the production is possible, these are brand new skills Ashlyn and Tobin are learning, and even Alex and Christen are struggling with certain aspects. When they break for lunch, a reporter—Catherine, with the HuffPost—pulls Christen aside to inquire about that very thing.

She glances in Hope’s direction – is she even allowed to answer questions? But the ballet master and brain behind the show just nods, as if she’d known exactly what Christen was wondering.

“I mean, it is different. I haven’t been this nervous since I first started partnering, all the way back in the academy. But we have an excellent staff and I trust them completely. We just have to keep working at it.”

“And your partner?”

“She’s great. I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes, so I’m glad there’s someone willing to be.” She glances over to where Tobin is pulling on a sweatshirt—the brunette pauses when she realizes she’s being watched.

“I don’t suppose you could convince her to chat with me, huh?” Catherine says with a smile. “I’d love to get her perspective.”

“Oh. Of course.” Christen hates the way her heart speeds up, as if it’s a daunting task. She closes the distance quickly and puts on her nicest smile, acutely aware that more than just the HuffPost reporter are suddenly interested in the interaction. “Hey, uh, good stuff this morning.”

“Thanks,” Tobin says with a nod. She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder, the picture of casual. “What’s up?”

“Oh. Uh. The reporter over there was hoping to interview you too. You’re the more interesting one, I guess.” She laughs weakly at her own joke.

“Oh, cool. Yeah, I’ll head over there.”

“Okay, great! I mean, cool.” Great? Cool? Why was she always tongue-tied? She went to Stanford, for Christ’s sake. She knows how to speak. She quits while she’s ahead and turns to give Catherine a thumbs up before making a beeline for the door.

She finds her favorite empty studio for lunch, stretching and meditating to try to get out of her head. Dancers all have a tendency to be high-strung, she tries to tell herself. It’s normal to have nerves so bad she gets tense in front of reporters. It’s normal to have nerves so bad she can’t even talk to her own damn partner.

Right?

\--

The rehearsal is uneventful, despite the watchful eyes of the reporters. They’ve got nearly the full black swan variation down, missing a few pieces of their solo variations that transition into the coda, but it’s not bad for what they’ve put into it. There’s a scary moment when Alex slips and gets tangled in Ashlyn’s legs, but nothing’s hurt but her ego. 

In her interview, done over her shoulder as she continues to work with her principals, Hope mentions how they’re taking it more slowly than a typical production, since they’re retraining dancers to fill a sturdier role. Christen smiles, noticing how even unshakeable Cam puffs up a little for the reporters.

Nearing the end of the day, however, Hope pulls the four principals aside.

“I want to do something dumb,” she prefaces with, smiling slightly. “But I think you’re ready for it. It’s not just because the press is here, it’s just time.”

Christen can already guess what she’s asking them to do: put it all together. None of the highly technical lifts that still haven’t left their sessions with Diego, but everything else, piecing the sequences together. It’s a marathon and they’ve been training with sprints. But they’re willing, or none of them outright disagree with Hope. It had to happen sometime.

So they take their places, Tobin and Christen just a couple feet behind the other pair. Instead of their usual pianist, Hope puts on a recording of the symphony that will play the real thing, and it makes it that much more real.

And they dance. Simple at first, bows and gestures and simple spins. Then it evolves, as the music swells and the black swan begins her seduction. A little sweaty and honed in on the sequence of steps, Christen’s not exactly seductive in the moment, but there will be time to add the finishing touches later.

The entrée is rough but they get through it and onto the second section, the one with more lifts. Cam’s not ready for her lifts so they fake it, but in the few seconds she’s running across the stage Tobin nods, and she steps into a jété, nerves taking her breath away as she flies through the air. But Tobin catches her and eases her fall, then pulls her into a fish dive. Christen can feel their muscles straining in unison, then it’s back on her own feet and across the floor again.

She watches from the edge of the room as Tobin and Ash do their solo variations. By the time they finish and it’s her turn, both their chests are heaving with exertion, and Christen’s reminded of how they haven’t yet done this full sequence – and the hardest stuff is coming up in the coda. But she pushes that out of her mind to take the ‘stage’ for her variation.

Then the coda.

The one she’s worried about is the second-to-last thing; she can see it looming ahead. Tobin has to hold her up, one arm on her waist, one arm on her thigh while she’s in fifth, before twisting on the way down into a dip. They’ve been drilling it constantly but Tobin and Ash are so _tired,_ she can see it in their every move. She catches Tobin’s eye, mutters “don’t do the last lift,” but Tobin shakes her head. Christen grits her teeth. _Fine,_ if she’s going to be stubborn -- Christen will get dropped for sure, but Tobin could pull something or embarrass herself and really, the long term consequences are much worse for her. As it should be.

So she prepares for the lift but doesn’t anticipate, just goes with Tobin’s cues and stretches from finger tip to pointed toe at the peak of the lift, waiting for the telltale signs of her partner’s arms giving out and the floor rushing up to meet her face – but instead, all that comes is her cue to come down. She does a full rotation in the air and keeps her body tight, twists her legs back when she feels Tobin catch her, and--

They’ve nailed it. 

Christen can’t stop the spread of her victorious smile as Tobin sets her down and they leans into their last penché, faces inches from each other. Their joined hands don’t even wobble as her partner supports her. She glances at the brunette. Their eyes meet, and Tobin gives her the most radiant smile, just as thrilled with their performance even though it's taken everything she's got. Christen feels a visceral tug as something flares within her—

For the briefest moment, _she gets it._ She gets the appeal, the vibe, the reason Tobin Heath is one of the top dancers of their time. She’s pulled in by the passion dancing behind her eyes and would give anything to see it again, to chase the high that’s not even her own.

And then the moment is over.

The rehearsal moves on, the others take over. The walls are up. She feels it even more acutely, now that she’s glimpsed the raw spirit locked away behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole thing is just "christen honey that's gay"
> 
> a series of chronological vignettes is truly the laziest writing but here we are.
> 
> why are my chapters so goddamn short ? it feels like forever when i'm writing them.
> 
> here's some lifts if you're wondering:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gqEO5YvfLKQ  
> from 0:26-0:33 is the Big Lift™ from this chapter, the two after that are ones they're working on
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJOT5W_1dwc  
> these are shoulder sits and they are different than the shoulder sits they'll be doing in approximately five chapters
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p21n1xorjEs  
> this is the black swan pdd i'm basing theirs off of rn, esp. w/ how they end


	6. ouverte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[oo-VEHRt]_  
>  Open, opened. This may referto positions (the second and fourth positions of the feet are positions ouvertes), limbs, directions, or certain exercises or steps.
> 
>  
> 
> news, coffee, and fixing things

She should’ve known from the start that the day would be a rough one. Her train had been late, her coffee had spilled, and she keeps getting strange looks from strange people, which tells her she must look shabbier than her usual pre-rehearsal attire. All she wants to do is get her day started and her mind right with some breathing and stretching and routine that always calms her.

Instead, the room is buzzing with an unusual energy, which only adds to her discomfort. She tries to ignore it as she quickly finds her spot and drops her bag to the floor. The next thing to go is her coffee-soaked hoodie. Once it’s over her head and she fixes her hair, she glances around. Andi and Mal are already stretching. Jane’s on the floor with her eyes screwed shut, looking like she’d much rather be in bed than here. Alyssa -- who had been adopted by their group, just quiet enough to appeal to her -- is finishing up her daily crossword. She barely looks up from the paper as Christen takes a seat next to her.

“Why’s everyone wound up? You’d think the performance were tomorrow!” Christen says lightly.

Her words aren’t met with the small talk she’s expecting - instead, everyone goes still. She frowns.

“You haven’t seen it?” Andi straightens out from her stretch, concern evident on her face as her protective instincts surface.

“Seen what?” Christen’s stomach twists and she glances from face to face. Mal won’t even meet her eyes. “Is everything okay?”

Alyssa slowly lowers her pen and leafs through the pages of her newspaper before sliding it across the floor to Christen. “This.” She points to an article on the front page of the Arts & Culture section.

Christen reads it quickly:

_Review: reimagination of a classic pushes boundaries, bodies_

“Oh, this is the article about us? That’s so exciting.” She forces a smile. What could be wrong? It’s not every day you’re in the New York Times.

Alyssa grimaces. “Read it.”

_Review: reimagination of a classic pushes boundaries, bodies  
By Jordan Henry_

_City Ballet’s “newest” production is actually one of the oldest and most famous ballets to grace the stage, Swan Lake. This one has a unique, intriguing twist, however: every single dancer is a woman._

_No danseurs here, except for the few men brought in to teach those playing “masculine” roles like the Prince -- now Princess -- the techniques required to do the elaborate lifts required._

_Retired legends Hope Solo and Christine Sinclair are at the helm, responsible for gathering the corps that could execute such a feat. So far, they’ve done that well enough: sporting names like Alex Morgan, Camille Abily, and Lotta Schelin, it’s certainly a star-studded cast by anyone’s account._

_Even with such global talent, Morgan is clearly the headliner. She brings in the kind of unconcealed sexuality that Swan Lake has always needed. Even more cautious viewers won’t mind the gender of her partner, especially when it’s such a good match in Ashlyn Harris, the pride of Orlando. They’re enjoyable to watch, the novelty of the performance smoothing over whatever foibles they may still have._

_The more intriguing match-up, however, are the two rising stars of Tobin Heath and Christen Press. Heath breaks away from her perpetual spot in Morgan’s shadow, while Press, in her first major role, has everything to gain and everything to lose. Both dance with a barely-restrained passion that speaks to how much this chance means to them._

_The performance would be stunning - if they didn’t clearly despise each other._

_It goes beyond professionals who exist in their own orbits outside of rehearsals - it’s a pointed avoidance, any time they have a break or the Ballet Master looks away. They drop hands as if the contact burned, avoiding even each other’s gaze as they rest and rehydrate. Sure, it could be chalked up to the gender-bend, either one uncomfortable with the lack of personal space the very art form requires. But Solo and Sinclair have insisted they carefully selected their group, screening out anyone who’d object to the concept. So there’s no good explanation for their behavior, even as it detracts from the production as a whole._

_Yes, the connection is there. The chemistry is there. Their subtle performance had me wondering if there actually could be something more between them. But for now, they undo their progress by working against, instead of with, each other._

_While Alex Morgan may bring the crowds, the success of the show with more nuanced audiences lies in resolving whatever tension exists between the second--and arguably more interesting--pair._

_Worth keeping an eye on._

Christen’s heart pounds erratically as she finishes the article and lets it fall back to the floor. She takes a moment to compose herself before glancing up at her friends. Their eyes are glued to hers - but Mal looks away quickly. Christen takes a deep breath.

“Well. That’s… interesting?”

Alyssa snorts. “That’s one way to put it.”

“It’s not that bad, really,” Andi says quickly, leaning forward. But her face, etched with concern, says otherwise.

Christen’s panic crests. “If it’s not that bad, why is everyone so agitated?” She snaps, then catches herself. “It’s not even about them.”

“They just like the drama, you know. It’s nothing personal.”

“Yeah,” Jane pipes in, sitting up. “We just haven’t had anything to talk about in a bit.” Andi smacks her but Christen’s tuning them out.

The stifling room is suddenly unbearable - she feels the weight of all of their eyes on her, even if she’s just imagining it. She doesn’t have _time_ , rehearsal is starting soon and she’s running late already and she needs to stretch and warm up and breathe but none of that’s happening here, not with the panic in her chest threatening to suffocate her. She climbs to her feet and forces herself to walk, not run, to the door. The hallways are winding and do nothing for her nerves but soon enough she bursts out the front doors and lets herself drop to the cold marble steps. 

The April sunshine is weak but welcome. She gathers herself and tries to take deep breaths, focusing on the sensations around her - smooth marble under her fingertips, Oh, how she misses the salty air of her home, not the stale, smoky city. But the motion of the city is soothing. Always something new to look at. 

It’s almost enough.

She rests her chin on her knees, rubbing her arms as the chilly spring air begins to set in. The city passes by her without sparing her a glance and she’s glad to be anonymous while it lasts.

But all too soon her quiet moment is over - the one person she least wants to see is striding down the sidewalk. Tobin’s got one hand in her pocket, the other holding a cardboard carrying tray. She’s whistling to herself and seems distracted, and for one brief shining moment Christen thinks they won’t have to interact. But Tobin catches sight of her and takes the steps two at a time to close the distance.

“Hi,” Tobin says. “I, uh, got you coffee.”

Christen stares at her. 

Tobin shifts awkwardly from foot to foot and takes it as a cue to keep talking. “Uh, I guess I don’t know how you want it or whatever so one’s black and one’s got half and half, I’ll take the one you don’t want. Unless you’re vegan? Are you vegan? They had almond milk but I think it’s weird. But I can get it next time if you want.”

“Do you think coffee is going to fix this?” Christen asks, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. 

Tobin’s brow furrows. “Fix what?”

“The article. Everyone knows-- everyone knows everything!” She throws her hands up in exasperation.

“What are you talking about?”

A harsh reply sits at the edge of her tongue but she bites it back and studies the woman in front of her instead. Her confusion seems genuine - and, Christen muses, she’s probably not one to read the newspaper first thing in the morning. But Christen isn’t going to be the one to tell her. Especially if she really had gone out of her way to… bring her coffee?

“Is one of those really for me?” She asks hesitantly. It’s a peace offering, just like Tobin’s coffee.

“Yeah. Do you want it?”

“Yeah.” She glances at her phone and gets to her feet. “It’s like you can read minds, I spilled half my coffee on me this morning.” 

Now Tobin’s the one looking at her strangely, and she can’t blame her after the whiplash of emotions. But the brunette just offers up the tray. “This one’s black, this one’s not.”

Christen grabs the one that’s black and offers up a hesitant smile, wrapping her hands around the cardboard cup. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m glad that’s the one you wanted, I hate black coffee.” Tobin smiles back and Christen feels a pang in her chest. The words of the article come back to her - _they clearly despise each other._

But rehearsal is supposed to start any minute, so she doesn’t have any more time to mull over this latest interaction. She follows Tobin up the steps, trying to focus on the upcoming rehearsal. Just as she’d expected, she and Tobin go their separate ways. Thankfully, no one comments on her return as she takes her seat next to Alyssa again and actually begins to tape up her feet. When Hope enters to start the morning class, she’s ready enough. Maybe not as limber as she’d like, but there will be time to stretch more before starting the hard part. Plus, thanks to Tobin she’s actually caffeinated - and with caffeine, she could take on anything.

Until she glances up during rehearsal and finds Tobin’s fierce gaze fixed on her. She looks away quickly, but the hair on the back of her neck still prickles, so she turns her head again. Tobin is still staring at her, and doesn’t even look away even as their eyes meet. A muscle in her jaw twitches. Christen swallows and raises her chin, rising to the challenge. The hard look on Tobin’s angular face doesn’t change. It takes the presence of Sinc to get her to look away, and even then, Christen feels unsettled. The whole day has left her reeling and it’s barely mid-morning.

It feels like an eternity until Hope announces the end of rehearsal. Mercifully, she hadn’t had to work with Tobin all day - Hope has the swans working with the full swan corps for the beginning of the second act, and it’s easier without princesses getting in the way. The rehearsal had been fine, but mostly she’s just glad to get this day over with. She’s envisioning a long, hot shower and a new bottle of wine when--

“You two.” Hope growls. “Stay.”

Christen’s stomach sinks as she blushes, called out in front of the entire corps - and they knew why. She swallows around the lump in her throat and nods, pointedly ignoring the glances from Tobin and the others as she gathers her things. She gives a half-hearted wave at the Alyssa and the kids as they trickle out of the studio, then turns to where Hope stands at the barre. Hope fixes them with a hard stare, the one that had made her so good in both her dancing and teaching careers. "So, I'm sure you know why I've held you back." Hope crosses her arms and Christen braces herself for the worst - Hope's not one to drag this out, but it won't be easy to hear.

“I haven’t been involved. I’ve been letting you figure whatever is between you out yourselves, but I have to be involved now. Other people are noticing - and it’s detracting from what we’re doing here. Don’t make me regret my decision. To bring you on, but also to pair you up. Do you know how much I have riding on this?” Christen wishes she could sink through the floor, anything to get away. “Fix it. Like professionals.”

She turns to go, giving them with one last look. “I’m going to be in my office. I don’t want to see either of you walk by for at least a few minutes.”

The sound of the door closing behind Hope echoes around the empty studio. Christen stares pointedly at the floor. The silence stretches out between them, but she’s not going to be the first to talk. She can feel the tension rolling off Tobin in waves, until finally it manifests into words. 

“You let me think nothing was wrong.”

Anger flashes down her spine, straightening her up until she’s staring right at her adversary. So Tobin’s going to blame her, huh? Ignoring the deep-seated issues of, you know, everything?

“You were going to find out soon enough!” She can’t keep the bite from her words - they’ve been here before. They’ve been here so many times and she’s tired of it.

“But you knew. The article-- it’s not like--” Tobin throws her hands up in exasperation. “I was trying to make things okay and you didn’t say a word about this article that dragged our names through the mud.”

“That’s the most words you’ve ever said to me.” Christen snarks, folding her arms across her chest.

“Can you please, just. Work with me here. I’m trying.”  
“I’ve been trying since day one. And you haven’t given me the time of day, Tobin! Which is how we keep finding ourselves here!”

Tobin, to her credit, looks suitably put out. Her brow is furrowed and she chews on her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. 

But the frustration of _everything_ is rushing out of Christen. “So now there’s this guy saying we ‘clearly’ hate each other even though I didn’t have any problems with you until you hated me? I need this to go well, Tobin, and so do you. But I need you to meet me halfway, or at least stop running away whenever I try.”

“Hold on. I don’t hate you,” Tobin says, ever so softly considering the fury she’s facing. Christen stares at her, caught off guard - but only momentarily.

“You do hate me.” Her words are laced with hurt and malice. “You hate me and you hate that you’re stuck with me and you hate that I’m not who you want me to be. I’m not Alex Morgan, okay? But I won’t apologize for not being her.”

Her words cut deep enough to get a reaction - jerking forward, Tobin curls her hands into fists except one insistent finger she points at the floor. “I know you’re not Alex! That’s not--”

“Then what’s your problem with me?” The raven-haired dancer lifts her chin defiantly, leaning further in as Tobin gets more and more frustrated. 

It’s a standoff, neither willing to back down yet nowhere to go. They’re as close as if they were dancing. In a moment she’s reminded of those rare occasions when everything clicks, when she gets those brief glimpses of _Tobin_ , what she suspects to be the _real_ Tobin - not Alex’s Tobin or Hope’s Tobin or the public’s Tobin. Or some New York Times reporter who thinks he knows Tobin or that there’s something… between them...

Tobin closes the distance between their lips.

Christen freezes, but for once her body’s quicker than her mind and responds in a few beats of her panicked heart. The kiss is at the same time gentle and urgent - Tobin’s hands softly cup the nape of her neck but her thumbs press into Christen’s jaw, a grounding pressure as the floor (and her knees) seems to give way.

It’s blazing. 

The pent up _everything_ turns into sheer electricity running through her veins, jumps like lightning between their lips and fingertips as Christen lets herself pull Tobin closer by the fabric of her t-shirt until their bodies press together. It’s familiar but in such a different context, new - and she doesn’t flinch when Tobin slips her hands around her waist. Not this time.

And then she surfaces - every thought in her brain reduced to Tobin and _they should not be doing this_ and her hand in the soft fabric of the brunette’s t-shirt is suddenly pushing her away, putting distance between them and their eyes meet and Tobin’s are wide and searching and Christen wants to pull her back in but backs away instead. Tobin pulls her hands back as if the contact burns, regret and hurt and guilt flashing across her face, as plain as if she’d said it out loud. Then it’s gone, and she turns away, balling her hands into fists yet again. Christen’s glued to the floor as she gathers her stuff without a word, throwing her bag over her shoulder with nearly enough force to rip it. She doesn’t look back before throwing the door open and disappearing into the dark halls.

Christen's still wearing her pointe shoes.

The pain comes flaring back to life as she remembers, but it’s something to focus on, so she slowly lowers herself to the floor and begins to slip the ribbons from her ankles. And she covers her mouth and sobs into the empty studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha it's finals szn
> 
>  
> 
> tobin...... honey.........

**Author's Note:**

> do i have time for this? no. am i going to do it anyway? yes.
> 
> p.s. every chapter is named for a somewhat-relevant ballet term because i have a soft spot in my heart for ballet. when i was like, a very young child I danced but I feel like everyone did tbh.
> 
> p.p.s. it's not 2012 anymore, this isn't talex


End file.
